well, not quite here . . .’
Everyone laughed, knowing this was an endurance test of sticking together and seeing it through.
‘Do you think we’ll get a diploma?’ Vanessa asked.
The other girls seemed to look to Callie as the fount of all knowledge, as if she was some sort of mothering prefect, especially when they got stuck in language classes. It was like St
Maggie’s all over again.
‘We’ll have to pass the gazelle test first,’ she suggested. They all fell about laughing.
A few weeks later, the faded grandeur of the countess’s château took on another dimension with the unexpected arrival of one of her sons. He turned up at the dining table in a dinner
jacket and wowed all the girls with his Gallic charm. He had dark curly hair, enormous grey eyes, and an electric smile that crackled the air as six pair of eyes examined this Adonis with a
collective sigh.
‘Mes enfants,
this is my son, Louis-Ferrand, who I thought was in the Ardennes but is now on vacation. He is at the university.’ He smiled at each of them and Callie tried
not to blush. ‘Vanessa, Adele, Sophie, Clemence, Pamela and Caroline . . .’ the countess continued, bowing to each in turn.
‘Enchanté,’
he said in a deep voice.
When they returned to their drawing room Vanessa pretended to swoon. ‘Oh, what a hunk of manhood!’
‘I think she did that on purpose to sharpen us up. Nothing like a handsome male to cause a flutter in the hencoop. Look at you all, batting your eyelashes, blushing. He’s only a
student,’ Callie said.
‘So?’ Pamela replied. ‘What’s wrong in practising our charm on him?’
‘Bags I get first pick,’ whispered Clemmie.
‘We can take it in turns and see who scores a bull’s-eye,’ Vanessa added.
Callie felt sorry for Ferrand. He’d come home on vacation to face a roomful of love-starved girls all waiting to be noticed. ‘I vote we leave the poor boy alone. He looks as if he
wants peace and quiet, not pestering. Count me out.’
‘Don’t be so stuffy, Callie . . . Miss Goody Two-shoes. Still, one less for the competition,’ Vanessa laughed. ‘Go and read your book.’
Callie didn’t mind being the odd one out. The girls were hungry for attention and Ferrand was going to be the sole object of their interest now. She felt protective of him. Madame had
pictures of her sons in gilt silver frames everywhere. Anyone could see she’d not be letting foreign girls interfere with her time with her precious boy.
Two afternoons later, Callie saddled up one of the school’s horses and rode out into the copse and along the path towards the other side of the lake at the back of the estate. It was
getting warm so she tethered Alphonse, and stripped off her shoes and socks to cool off in the water, splashing about as she used to do at Dalradnor. A movement under a tree suddenly startled her.
Had someone been following her? For a second she froze, but then Ferrand stepped out of the shade, holding something in his hand.
‘
Pardon, mademoiselle . . . je vous en pris
. . . I think this belongs to Alphonse.’ He was holding a horseshoe. He strolled to the horse, waiting in the shade.
‘Bien sûr.
He has lost it on the path.’
‘I better walk him back then, sorry.’ Callie felt flustered at being caught playing in the water like a child. ‘I hope it’s not done any damage.’
‘He’s fine.’ Ferrand flashed a smile. ‘Are you enjoying your visit? Maman can be very . . . how you say . . . demanding?’
‘Don’t worry, I have an escape plan,’ she laughed, thinking how close by the van Hooge family were. She told him about Marthe and how Marthe had been her nursemaid. ‘My
father died in the war at Lesboeufs.’ It was the first time she’d ever talked openly about Arthur Seton-Ross, especially to a stranger, but somehow it felt natural.
Ferrand spoke excellent English and she shocked him by practising some Flemish. ‘Don’t let Maman hear you speaking this, Caroline.
Everyone laughed, knowing this was an endurance test of sticking together and seeing it through.
‘Do you think we’ll get a diploma?’ Vanessa asked.
The other girls seemed to look to Callie as the fount of all knowledge, as if she was some sort of mothering prefect, especially when they got stuck in language classes. It was like St
Maggie’s all over again.
‘We’ll have to pass the gazelle test first,’ she suggested. They all fell about laughing.
A few weeks later, the faded grandeur of the countess’s château took on another dimension with the unexpected arrival of one of her sons. He turned up at the dining table in a dinner
jacket and wowed all the girls with his Gallic charm. He had dark curly hair, enormous grey eyes, and an electric smile that crackled the air as six pair of eyes examined this Adonis with a
collective sigh.
‘Mes enfants,
this is my son, Louis-Ferrand, who I thought was in the Ardennes but is now on vacation. He is at the university.’ He smiled at each of them and Callie tried
not to blush. ‘Vanessa, Adele, Sophie, Clemence, Pamela and Caroline . . .’ the countess continued, bowing to each in turn.
‘Enchanté,’
he said in a deep voice.
When they returned to their drawing room Vanessa pretended to swoon. ‘Oh, what a hunk of manhood!’
‘I think she did that on purpose to sharpen us up. Nothing like a handsome male to cause a flutter in the hencoop. Look at you all, batting your eyelashes, blushing. He’s only a
student,’ Callie said.
‘So?’ Pamela replied. ‘What’s wrong in practising our charm on him?’
‘Bags I get first pick,’ whispered Clemmie.
‘We can take it in turns and see who scores a bull’s-eye,’ Vanessa added.
Callie felt sorry for Ferrand. He’d come home on vacation to face a roomful of love-starved girls all waiting to be noticed. ‘I vote we leave the poor boy alone. He looks as if he
wants peace and quiet, not pestering. Count me out.’
‘Don’t be so stuffy, Callie . . . Miss Goody Two-shoes. Still, one less for the competition,’ Vanessa laughed. ‘Go and read your book.’
Callie didn’t mind being the odd one out. The girls were hungry for attention and Ferrand was going to be the sole object of their interest now. She felt protective of him. Madame had
pictures of her sons in gilt silver frames everywhere. Anyone could see she’d not be letting foreign girls interfere with her time with her precious boy.
Two afternoons later, Callie saddled up one of the school’s horses and rode out into the copse and along the path towards the other side of the lake at the back of the estate. It was
getting warm so she tethered Alphonse, and stripped off her shoes and socks to cool off in the water, splashing about as she used to do at Dalradnor. A movement under a tree suddenly startled her.
Had someone been following her? For a second she froze, but then Ferrand stepped out of the shade, holding something in his hand.
‘
Pardon, mademoiselle . . . je vous en pris
. . . I think this belongs to Alphonse.’ He was holding a horseshoe. He strolled to the horse, waiting in the shade.
‘Bien sûr.
He has lost it on the path.’
‘I better walk him back then, sorry.’ Callie felt flustered at being caught playing in the water like a child. ‘I hope it’s not done any damage.’
‘He’s fine.’ Ferrand flashed a smile. ‘Are you enjoying your visit? Maman can be very . . . how you say . . . demanding?’
‘Don’t worry, I have an escape plan,’ she laughed, thinking how close by the van Hooge family were. She told him about Marthe and how Marthe had been her nursemaid. ‘My
father died in the war at Lesboeufs.’ It was the first time she’d ever talked openly about Arthur Seton-Ross, especially to a stranger, but somehow it felt natural.
Ferrand spoke excellent English and she shocked him by practising some Flemish. ‘Don’t let Maman hear you speaking this, Caroline.
Similar Books
